


A Drop of Jehanparnasse

by Moonfreckle (Sunfreckle)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Moonfreckle
Summary: A collection of Jehanparnasse ficlets of various AU's that fit nowhere else, but that needed saving.Bundled and released for Jehanparnasse week 2019!Includes:- Witchy friends- High school kisses- A defused zombie au- Modern AU of the hurt/comfort kind- Jehan and Fauntleroy's friendship Disturbing the Peace- A very cute dragon
Relationships: Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. Witchcraft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adrenaline-revolver asked:  
Jehan as your friendly neighborhood witch who sells all sorts of potions and spells and Montparnasse as the NEEDIEST client. A singular gray hair? Go to the witch and whinE until they fix it. One blemish? Knock on the witches door at 1 am. Montparnasse realizes he's in trouble when he starts actively looking for imperfections as an excuse to go.
> 
> And I responded by introducing witch!Cosette...

“Who are you?”

Montparnasse stares at the young woman standing on his doorstep. People typically can’t find this place, Claquesous made damn sure of that.

“I’m Cosette,” the unexpected visitor introduces herself with a smile. “Jehan asked me to stop by.”

In an instant, Montparnasse’s demeanour changes. Just the mention of Jehan’s name calls back the feeling of magic nestling against his skin and rustling in his hair. Cosette doesn’t _look_ like a witch, but if Jehan sent her… “And why would that be?” he asks, letting just a little more charm slip into his voice. It would not do to antagonize Jehan’s friends.

“Well.” Cosette shifts her weight a little, uncomfortably lingering on his doorstep. “Do you mind if I come in for a moment?”

Montparnasse hesitates. No one else is home right now, so technically it shouldn’t be a problem, but… “Alright,” he says reluctantly, stepping aside. “But I’m going to need to know what this is about.”

“It is only,” Cosette says kindly while following him to the living room, “that Jehan got a little worried about your, um, reliance on their magic.”

Something icy creeps up Montparnasse’s back. Did Jehan send a _friend_ to tell him not to come to them anymore? Really? He sits down rather stiffly. “If Jehan does not feel like offering their services to me anymore, they—”

“Oh no,” Cosette interrupts hastily, choosing a seat near him. “That’s not it. They’re just concerned.”

The way she looks at him makes Montparnasse feel extremely uncomfortable. There is a sort of intangible warmth coming off her, and her eyes are fixed on him in a kind, open sort of way that invites him to confide and trust in her. The worst thing is that it actually does feel inviting. He’s suddenly not so sure anymore about her not being a witch. Montparnasse has to make an effort not to lean away from her in his chair.

“What the hell are you on about,” he demands.

The kind attention doesn’t falter, but she does pull back a bit. “The beauty treatments. Jehan tells me you’ve been coming in a lot. And they wondered if perhaps they are doing you more harm than good with their magic. So, I thought, if you’d like someone to talk to…”

Montparnasse is too astonished to check himself. “You’re worried about my _self-esteem?_” he blurts out, nearly openly gaping at Cosette. “Sweetheart, I _know _this cannot be improved upon.” He gives a flutter with his hand in the general direction of his entire person.

“Cosette,” she corrects him firmly, but she also looks rather intrigued.

“Cosette,” he concedes with a slight nod. Something of her gentleness has faded and even though the warmth remains, it makes enough of a difference to make him feel less wary.

“Then why do you keep going?” she asks suddenly, a critical note in the blue of her eyes. “If you know you don’t really need it.”

Montparnasse purses his lips. He should have taken the time to think of a convincing lie before he corrected her. He’s not about to tell her that all he wants is to see Jehan again. To feel all their magic and attention fixed on him again. To see them smile every time they open the door to him.

“Or perhaps,” Cosette says slowly, interrupting his conflicted silence, “_perhaps_ the question should be why Jehan sent _me_ here to have an awkward conversation with a stranger, instead of sitting you down for a talk themself.”

Montparnasse opens his mouth.

“Or better still,” Cosette keeps going, and now he sees just a hint of a repressed smile of exasperation in her face. “Why they insisted on helping you with every little _nonsense_ thing you asked them, instead of telling you to go bother someone else.”

Montparnasse shuts his mouth again, a rather sudden chaos of feelings jittering through his mind. He sorts through them very quickly, in search of the best next thing to do. His foremost feeling, he decides, is a loud, stupidly bright joy. His

foremost _thought_ is that it would probably be best for him if he managed to make a friend out of Cosette.

He looks up at her with one of his best apologetic smiles, he doesn’t practice those too often. “Perhaps the most pressing matter is that I made Jehan worry about me.”

A spark of amusement dances in Cosette’s eyes. “Perhaps.”

“Maybe you could help me come up with a way to make it up to them?” He smiles. “You know, since you’re here anyway.”

Cosette slants her head in pretend thoughtfulness. “Well, I _am_ here has a favour to Jehan, so…”

She smiles at him and Montparnasse already knows he’s won.

“Go on then, I’m listening.”


	2. Highschool AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for a high school au with "a carefully planned kiss" as a prompt.

“Come on!”

Montparnasse lets himself be dragged through the empty corridor, away from the obnoxious noise of the school dance.

“What’s the hurry?” he says with a grin, still walking but trying to pull them closer towards him.

“Shh,” Jehan hisses, glancing over their shoulder.

“No one’s coming to catch us,” Montparnasse rolls his eyes. He lets the grin flash back onto his face. “I might catch you though…”

He leans forward to press a kiss on their neck, but Jehan dodges to the side and hurries their step.

“Not here,” they scold.

“Where the hell are we going then?” Montparnasse demands.

Jehan turns around just long enough to give him a look with wide, sparkling eyes. “The _attic_.”

“The attic?” he echoes bemusedly, but he’s already hurrying his step, Jehan looking at him like that is all the encouragement he needs, he couldn’t care less where they’re going.

Only when they’ve reached the door to the attic stairs does Jehan finally release his hand. They rummage through the pockets of their velvet suit jacket. Montparnasse’s gaze temporarily lingers on the lace cuffs on their sleeves with a faint feeling of desperation.

“There,” Jehan grins triumphantly, unearthing a set of jingling keys from the velvet. “Perks of being in the theatre club.”

“You _really_ don’t need the keys to open that old thing,” Montparnasse scoffs as they unlock the door

“Oh hush,” Jehan scolds and they hold the door open for him.

Montparnasse climbs the rickety stairs, looking back to see Jehan close the door and follow him with quick, quiet steps. The stairs are ancient and far too narrow to walk side by side, so Montparnasse hurries to the top, turning round to wait for Jehan. He holds out a hand and they take it with a smile he can barely see in the near dark. He opens his mouth to ask what all this was for, but Jehan holds up their hand. Montparnasse shuts his mouth.

With a meaningful look Jehan reaches out and flicks on one of the lights witches. A pair of ancient, bare lightbulbs swinging on their cords, blink to life. Suddenly the entire, giant space around them is filled, half with light, half with the grotesque shadows of the set pieces, props and racks of bulky clothing that occupy nearly every flat surface. The clutter turns the attic into a maze, while the high ceilings, gaping with space, have something nearly cathedral-like.

Montparnasse glances past all of it, turning his head until his eyes are once again resting on Jehan’s face. A face that is currently positively lit up with smug delight and anticipation.

“Okay,” Montparnasse smirks. “Fair enough.”

“See?” Jehan beams, closing the distance between them with an elegant step. “It’s perfect.”

Montparnasse takes in every single detail of their face in one look. Perfect. He wraps his arms around their waist. “_Now_ can I kiss you?”

“Nah,” Jehan grins and they gleefully press their lips against his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon challenged me to turn the concept "Zombies have happened and someone's been bitten" from angst into fluff.
> 
> Cw blood,injury and…a general horror environment?

Jehan screams when nails suddenly dig into their ankle and they kick viciously. Montparnasse is by their side in an instant, his bludgeon coming down with a nauseating crack, but by then Jehan has already lost their balance. They feel a burning sting cling to their leg even as they scramble backwards, pain making their breath hitch high in their chest every time their right foot tries to brace itself against the ground.

“Finch?” Montparnasse turns his back on what is now most definitely a corpse. “Finchling, you ok?”

“Um—” Jehan gulps. Their heart seems to be blocking their throat, panic clawing at their spine. Their right pant leg is shredded at the cuffs. Shredded and stained with blood. “I…I don’t—”

“_Fuck_.” The frantic note of dread in Montparnasse’s voice lands on Jehan’s chest like a choking weight. “Fuck, no, _Jehan_—”

Jehan does nothing to stop him when he drops to his knees beside him, but they already know there’s nothing he can do. They wince when he touches the wound, ripping the fabric of their clothes away from it, but they force themself to look at it. His cold fingers make them shiver, even through the pain. It _hurts_.

“It might…it might not get infected.”

Montparnasse is a brilliant liar, he’s had more than enough time to perfect the craft, but right now his words sound empty.

Jehan looks up at him pleadingly. “Don’t do that.” They swallow. “Please.”

The noise that spills from Montparnasse’s lips is one of grief and denial. He sinks down until he’s seated on the ground, just like they are. The two of them sit in silence, nothing but the quiet groaning of the battered building around them.

Slowly, pushing the pain to the very edge of their mind, Jehan composes themself. “Parnasse…”they begin, finally.

Montparnasse raises his head, his face painted with dismay. “No.”

Jehan actually laughs, letting themself slide down until their back also meets the rough floor. “Gods your stubborn.”

“We agreed,” Montparnasse says urgently, moving closer to lean over them with anxious care. “Weagreed, _not yet_.”

“I think the circumstances changed a little just now,” Jehan replies, looking up at his face. There’s dirt on his marble cheeks. It doesn’t suit him. They reach up, attempting to wipe the smudge away, their hand warm and pink against his cold cheek. “I know you don’t want to,” they say softly. “But I also know you _do_ want to, and…I want you to.”

For a very long moment Montparnasse looks at them, staring down at them with a few locks of his dark hair tumbled forward. Then, with a curl of his lip that has become very familiar to Jehan, he grimaces in discontent. His fangs gleam pearl-like in the dim light, mesmerizingly beautiful for just a second before his eyes narrow to a scowl.

“…you were counting on this happening, weren’t you.”

Jehan can’t really cross their arms like this, lying on the floor as they are, but they would have. “If I was going to get myself bitten on _purpose_ I could have done it _weeks _ago,” they protest indignantly. “_Months _ago!”

Montparnasse bares his teeth at them, but there’s no malice in it, only helpless frustration. And Jehan knows this isn’t fair on him. He’s been so careful, so respectful, so unwilling to threaten their mortality. Even when they asked him to… He convinced them to wait. Told them they still had time. But that’s changed now. Right now their time is running out. They have as long as it will take that bite to get infected. As long as it will take that infection to kill them and take root in their brain.

They don’t need to tell Montparnasse any of this. He knows. Of course he does. But for some reason he still—

“I _promised_,” he groans. “I promised your scruffy friend and his annoying bottle-blond boyfriend that I’d get you to Refuge _safely_.” There’s an indignant kind ofanger straining his face and voice.

Jehan nearly smiles. They do love him, so much. Their friends will understand, they’ll have to. When they know what the alternative was.

“So,” Jehan looks up into his eyes, “go ahead then. Keep me safe.”

Montparnasse glances down at the wound on their leg and then back up at their face. Emotions flit across his face, flickering between love and regret and barely repressed longing.“I love you,” he says, nearly sighing.

Jehan smiles, still lying outstretched on the dirty floor but seeing nothing but him. “I love you,” they echo warmly.

And with that Montparnasse lifts them up off the floor, supporting them in his arms as he softly presses his lips to theirs.

Their kiss is slow but it deepens until all of Jehan’s senses are full of Montparnasse. They don’t feel his teeth, don’t know what he did, but suddenly they taste him. They taste his blood, cool on their tongue but hot in their throat, and they swallow as they kiss him without thought of breathing.

Jehan doesn’t remember when their eyes closed, but they’re closed now, and they’re wrapped in gentle darkness as the sell and taste of Montparnasse winds around them like his arms do. Every time they swallow they can feel themself sinking into him deeper, feel him fill them more. And yet they don’t lose themself. They can’t lose themself, because they’re right there, in his arms. He’s carrying them and they suddenly _understand_.

Everything Montparnasse ever told them, every smile he gave them, every gentle word, fond touch, laughing look, loving kiss, they can feel it from the inside out. Like all of that was flowing through his blood, and now it’s flowing straight into them.

Jehan Prouvaire dies without even realising it. Their eyes don’t open for the loss of their breath, not for the stopping of their heart, only for Montparnasse, when he finally pulls out of their kiss.

His lips are red when they look at him. Red and smiling. “You kept your freckles,” he murmurs. “I was hoping you would.”

Jehan laughs and their laugh doesn’t sound even a bit different. They don’t need to look to know the infectious wound is closing already, whatever toxicity it might have threatened them with dying in their dying body. But they have never felt more alive. And Montparnasse, their beautiful, _beloved_ Montparnasse, he is looking at them with all the glorious mixed-up happiness of a man who just stole something absolutely priceless.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lilysayuri-chan asked: Jehan is very tired so Montparnasse reads them to sleep.
> 
> And I responded with a bit of hurt/comfort~

It’s the third time Jehan tries to rearrange the bed in an attempt to get comfortable and this time is just as unsuccessful as the last one. Silently they scotch in to the corner, leaning against the cold wall and hugging their knees.

The bed is fine, that’s not the issue. It’s surprising how well-furnished the Patron-Minette’s various hide-outs are. Jehan does have a strong suspicion that this is a fairly recent thing and that Fauntleroy definitely had something to do with it.

The loud voices coming from one of the adjoining rooms momentarily grow even harsher still and Jehan lets out a tired sigh. They wish Fauntleroy was here now. Fauntleroy’s presence makes everything different. The Patron-Minette’s dynamics seems to shift around the addition of each member and Jehan noticed long ago that they all act very different in their various subgroups.

Jehan sighs again. These are exactly the kind of thoughts they don’t need now. They are _so_ tired. They want to sleep so badly. Their body aches with it. But their head is too full. Today was too much, too sudden and too harsh. And now they’re in a strange place with still those endless sounds of conflict _right_ outside their door.

They clench their teeth. It’s their own fault. They wanted to be here. Montparnasse wanted to send them home. _They_ decided to stay. Insisted to stay. It’s their own—

Jehan doesn’t even hear the door open, doesn’t hear the handle turn, it’s the light alone that lets them know someone is coming in. Or rather, not coming in, because the dark shapes lingers outside the room, silently looking in through the partially opened door. Jehan blinks at the lamplight suddenly replacing the dusky dark, looking up at Claquesous with an expression that is simply too exhausted to be guarded. They know it’s him. His silhouette is unmistakable. So is his silence.

Claquesous doesn’t speak, doesn’t come in. Silently he closes the door again and if it had been anyone else Jehan might have thought he opened the door by accident. They wait, just alert enough to be puzzled by his behaviour, and to their surprise the rapidly talking voices suddenly stop. For a moment it is completely quiet, then the conversation continues, but in a nearly hushed tone that makes it impossible to hear what is being said.

Jehan raises their head to listen closer and this time they do hear footsteps approaching. The door opens again, just a little too hastily to be quiet.

“Jehan, are you alright?”

The smile that comes to Jehan’s face is as involuntary as the exhausted wobble in their voice as they answer: “I’m fine, chaton, just…tired.”

Montparnasse closed the door behind him and Jehan flicks on the lamp on the bedside table. They try for another smile, but this time they feel the sting of tears at the back of their throat. Montparnasse sits down on the edge of the bed and gives them a concerned and nearly guilty look.

“I thought you were asleep already,” he says softly.

“I tried,” Jehan swallows and they try very hard to fight the tears they feel welling up in their eyes in spite of themself back down.

Clearly they’re failing, because Montparnasse’s face floods with that faint look of horror he gets whenever they are upset. He silently moves his lips, looking for something to say.

“Did you bring a book?” he asks suddenly.

Jehan nods. “I tried reading, but I can’t.”

“You don’t have to,” Montparnasse says. He gets to his feet leans over to the foot of the bed, where Jehan put their bag. He gives them a questioning look and they nod again. Montparnasse fishes the tattered paperback up from the bottom of the bag and to Jehan’s surprise he takes of his shoes and crawls onto the bed to sit beside them.

“Don’t they need you back there?” they protest weakly, but as soon as they feel his weight next to him they lean against him instinctually.

Montparnasse makes a soft, dismissive sound and leaves through the book. “Where did you leave off?” he asks gently. “Or shall I start at the beginning?”

“You’re not really going to read me to sleep,” Jehan says smilingly, wiping at their eyes. Their voice is still wobbly, but they don’t feel like crying anymore.

Montparnasse gives them a sideways glance from behind the book. “Watch me.” He pulls the blanket up towards them. “Come here.”

With the smile still on their face Jehan allows themself to be wrapped up and pulled closely against Montparnasse’s side. They nestle their head against his chest and close their eyes.

“The wind howled. The storm crackled on the mountains,” Montparnasse reads and a soft glow of happiness comes through the haze of exhaustion in Jehan’s mind as soon as they hear those familiar words spoken in his voice. Montparnasse has such a nice reading voice.

“Lightning prodded the crags like an old man trying to get an elusive blackberry pip out of his false teeth.”

Montparnasse pauses for a moment and Jehan opens their eyes to see him glancing at the cover with a slight frown on his face.

“It’s a Pratchett,” they say helpfully.

“Right,” Montparnasse sighs, glancing down at them with fond bewilderment. “I might have known.”

“Yeah,” Jehan sighs happily, closing their eyes again. “Comfort reading.”

And it really is now. They stay right there, wrapped in Montparnasse’s arms, and he reads to them until the words blur together into nothing but the soothing sound of his voice. Until they finally fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some bonus Jehan and Fauntleroy friendship!

Montparnasse knows something is off as soon as he steps through the door of his apartment. There is no way Claquesous put on this music. He walks towards the source of the folksy drums and flutes with a frown on his face. Jehan listen to this kind of music, but they have never dared to play it out loud at his place. Probably not because of him though. Definitely not. Claquesous is very particular about music. Still, Montparnasse is certainly guilty of encouraging their reluctance to—

He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he’s set one foot inside the living room.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?”

“Good afternoon, Montparnasse, nice to see you too,” Fauntleroy singsongs from where they are sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“You’re home!” Jehan beams and they rise to their feet to hurry over to him.

For once Montparnasse doesn’t actually pay attention when they press a greeting kiss to his cheek. He is still staring at the absolute chaos that used to be his living room. There are crystals and stones scattered everywhere, some in little bowls of water. Bowls that definitely came from his kitchen.

“May I repeat,” he says. “What the hell is going on. And you—” He glares at Fauntleroy. “What the fuck are you doing here.”

Fauntleroy gives him an unimpressed glance and doesn’t answer.

“You gave me a key, remember,” Jehan says happily, taking him by the hand and carefully leading him in a path around the little groups of various stones.

“Yes,” Montparnasse says, frowning at a pile of smooth pebbles with odd symbols painted on them. “For you to use.”

“Well I did,” Jehan smiles sweetly.

“And then they invited me over,” Fauntleroy says casually.

They grin up at Montparnasse from behind their curls, which are a blueish green at the moment, and Montparnasse wonders – not for the first time – what cruel sentience of the universe made sure that Jehan and Fauntleroy met on their own, without his intervention. Or more importantly, without an opportunity for him to regulate the heinous sort of colourful, erratic, quietly exuberant chemistry that takes place between the two of them.

“Faun was going to lay runes for me,” Jehan says happily, gently directing him to sit down on the couch and keeping him there by cosying up beside him. “While we’re waiting for the crystals to be cleansed.”

“Isn’t there some sort of rule against doing witchcraft into someone else’s house,” Montparnasse mutters darkly, but he puts an arm around Jehan all the same, because of course he does.

“It’s fine,” Fauntleroy says innocently. “We did a circle.”

Montparnasse gives them a blank stare. Fauntleroy has little lights of quiet amusement dancing in their eyes and there is no way, whatever he does or says, that they are going to let him forget about this. “You did a what.”

“Which is why I went to fetch you,” Jehan says contentedly, entwining their fingers with his. “So it’s all perfectly safe.”

“None of this looks safe,” he grunts, glancing

“Oh hush,” Fauntleroy hums cheerfully. “Let me give Jehan their reading.”

Montparnasse gives a wave with his hand and leans back on the couch with a suffering sigh. There’s no stopping the two of them now anyway. On their own, maybe, but together. He knows perfectly well he doesn’t stand a chance. So rune readings in his own damn living room it is. _Soit_.

Montparnasse smirks slightly as he glances through the room again. He _does_ kind of hope Claquesous comes home before they’re done.

In fact, he might have to make sure of that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adrenaline-revolver asked:
> 
> idea apropos of nothing i need to share with someone: Fantasy type rouge assassin Montparnasse is sent to slay the dragon! The dragon turns out to be this really cute redhead with a hoard of something strange like plants or books. In natural rouge fashion: "I must have imagined that "s" in the instructions."

“I suppose I should add this to the monster manual,” Montparnasse says teasingly. “Dragons like having their hair stroked.”

Jehan lifts themself up slightly from the pile of pillows that forms their nest and gives him a vaguely displeased look. The dark red scales scattered around their eyes catch the flickering light of the torches on the wall as they frown. “That’s a nasty word, monster,” they say.

“Forgive me,” Montparnasse hums, combing his fingers through their long hair once more to smooth it back from where it tumbled forward as they moved. “Force of habit.”

“Humans use too many nasty words,” Jehan says. They roll onto their back, resting their head in Montparnasse’s lap.

They look up at him with black eyes full of smouldering fire and for a moment Montparnasse’s mind scatters.

“Monster,” Jehan repeats. “Beast.” Their nose wrinkles in disagreement. “Hellspawn.”

“Now listen,” Montparnasse murmurs amusedly, gently tracing from scale to scale across their face. “You _did_ burn down a castle.”

“Well they weren’t doing very nice things in that castle, were they,” Jehan replies without a shred of guilt. “And besides-” They glance fondly at the hoard of books and scrolls all around them. “-I saved the books.”

Montparnasse smiles, reclining against the pillows a little more. “Pretty, thieving little dragon…”

The dark eyes fix on him again and this time Jehan smiles. “There,” they say and there’s just a hint of smoke in the air as they speak. “I like _those_ words a lot more…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the shortest thing I've ever added on AO3 but it turned out too darn cute.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
